


1892-1959 (Ua Mau ke Ea o ka 'Āina i ka Pono)

by queendander



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Colonialism, Emotional Hurt, Historical Hetalia, Imperialism, Other, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-07 19:16:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14087820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queendander/pseuds/queendander
Summary: In the 18th Century, she met his kind for the first time.In the 19th Century, they stole her from her people.Now it's the middle of the 20th Century and she is no longer even her own.





	1892-1959 (Ua Mau ke Ea o ka 'Āina i ka Pono)

**Author's Note:**

> As a heads up, this is a fairly modern and cultural take on the annexation of Hawai'i--when it happened, there was a pretty big push for it from the islands, largely due to taxation without representation.  
> However, the fact remains that the overthrow of the Hawaiian monarchy in 1892/1890 was illegal and an act of terror... but I'm very bitter and very Hawaiian and too many people don't know this history.  
> Also, I love APH America!! He's my sweet boy BUT America the country in real history is a colonizer, a conqueror, and a committer of mass genocide on multiple accounts and we shouldn't forget that.  
> Anyway.

_Ua Mau ke Ea o ka 'Āina i ka Pono_ : The Life of the Land is Perpetuated in Righteousness

* * *

 

**1959**

She couldn't pretend to be disappointed when she heard the news. Her hopes of being freed, of being restored to her former and rightful glory, had long been well and truly dashed. She was still wracked with pain, mental and physical, from the attack at Pearl Harbor. She was, for all intents and purposes, crippled--from the toll of the war, from the seizure of her land for military use, from the segregation of her people. She was dependent on her American captors. Frankly, it came as almost a relief. She could no longer dream of standing on her own. She had been broken.

That night, after a long, grueling day of meetings and paperwork and lectures about the transition from territory to full-fledged statehood, she was driven to her new home in the heart of Honolulu, far from the cottage up mauka she had called home for decades. Far from there, and close enough to see 'Iolani Palace down the street, to remember its former splendor. She did remember, and it made her shatter. If she could have mustered up the strength, she would have cried, begged, fought, screamed, anything at all--but she was tired, so tired.

Deposited at her new front door by her bosses, (deplorable group of haole men, she thought privately, greedy and old and never too faithful to their god to leer at and grab at and fondle her,) she tried to pull herself together as they eyed her up and down and told her to make sure she satisfied. She knew full well what they meant.

As soon as their car drove off, back to some uproarious and noxious gubernatorial shindig or another, she felt her body sag. She looked down at herself--exhausted, battered, used--and truly realized she would never again live as she once had. She could not linger on the thought, however. She was a state now, (a state! Her kupuna, if she had any, must be weeping!) and she had a duty to her master. She straightened her back, steeled herself as best she could, and opened the door to her new house.

Her eyes fell on him immediately. He was on the couch, reading. He had been waiting for her, likely dropped off earlier while she was learning just how many freedoms he was stripping her of. She forced the negativity from her mind as he looked up from his book, standing to greet her. The smile on his face, wide and boyish and proud and possessive, turned her stomach. She smiled back--she hoped it was a smile--and he stepped forward with arms outstretched.

She didn't move. He embraced her anyway.

"I've been waiting too long for this," he murmured, leaning down to brush his lips against her neck. Many years ago, she would have welcomed the touch, leaned into it even. But many years ago, she had been her own. She did not move.

"I know," she whispered, and he ignored the sorrow in her tone. Or maybe he failed to notice it at all--he had failed to notice many things in the decades she had known him. And all the things he failed to notice, she knew, were things that did not sit with his plans. Things that did not match his projected outcomes. She was supposed to be celebratory now, and so he heard only celebration.

"You're finally mine," he sighed, and squeezed her tighter. The strength of the hold was the most painful thing she had ever endured.

"I am," she wheezed out, and in a rare display of observation, he released his grasp.

"Oh, jeez," he said sheepishly, "you're still that hurt? Gosh, it's been more than a decade, but I guess you're still recovering... Man, it's a good thing I'm here to take care of you, you could never make it on your own!" he laughed.

She could not respond. She thought of centuries of growth, of development, of war, of death, of sickness and of health. She thought of her people, and of her siblings scattered across the Pacific, and she thought of love. She thought of the humans who had loved her and who still did, even now in her greatest moment of weakness, and she nurtured that love. She put it on like armor, facing her greatest challenge yet.

He was grinning at her again.

"Thank you," she said, and then he kissed her.

It was oppressive--it came without warning and she didn't have time to get air into her lungs. When he tried to wrap his arms around her again, capture her in the unyielding cage of his arms, she could no longer bear it--any of it.

She pushed him away with as much force as her weakened state allowed. The shock of that action, that disobedience, was enough to send him stumbling backwards. He caught himself on the back of the couch and gaped at her, his eyes wide. He was silent. It didn't make her feel better.

"Why?" he asked finally, and she could hear the childish indignation creeping into his voice. He was not used to things not going his way. She looked down and could not respond. He repeated the question.

"I'm sorry," she managed.

"But we've done this before," he said.

She thought of tentative introductions, of conversations in the sun, of bathing in waterfalls. They had made love, once. This was not to be making love.

"I'm sorry," she repeated.

"I don't understand," he admitted. He took a step towards her and she flinched reflexively. He stopped but did not move away. She did not relax.

"I don't--" she started, but he cut her off, taking another step into her personal space. She hunched over, submissive on cue.

"I saved you," he told her. She looked up at him, confused. What she saw was a bizarre but deadly combination of immature petulance and god-like strength. She did not question him.

Instead, "I'm sorry," she said for a third time. Her voice was barely audible to her over the sound of blood rushing in her ears. He grabbed her hands and she shut her eyes, tight so the tears wouldn't fall.

"This is your duty to me." She froze for a moment, not even breathing, before her legs gave out at last and she collapsed to the floor, arms still held above her. Her eyes were wide and she was shaking. He let go of her hands and they dropped limply to the ground. Her tears never came.

He was stunned.

He stepped back, once, twice, far away from her trembling form, and he had to look away from the sight of her. His mind was racing, going through decades and even centuries of memories he forgot he even had.

His sisters and brothers--so many, so kind, so wise--they had loved him, had cared for him, had taught him how to live and, beyond that, how to thrive.

He had brought the family together. Hadn't he? He had done the right thing.

But when was the last time he saw his elder siblings? What had they looked like when he came to their homes and claimed them as a part of his own? What had they looked like at all?

He gasped for air. For a long time, neither one in the room said a word. Neither moved, him plastered against the wall and her crumpled on the floor. The space between them stretched for miles. Finally, he took a shuddering breath and spoke.

"The bedroom is down the hall," he stuttered, voice hoarse. When he saw her shudder, he tripped over himself to elaborate. "I'll be sleeping on the couch," he said. "The door locks from the inside."

He watched as she shakily picked herself up and he watched as she slowly, cautiously found her way to her room. It wasn't until he heard the sound of the lock sliding into place that he was able to move, sliding down the wall to sit on the ground. He held his head in his hands and listened to the muffled sobs coming from down the hall. He tried to remember his siblings' faces.

Neither of them slept.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic operates on the assumption/headcanon that America has a bunch of older siblings that are the First Nations of what is now the continental US!
> 
> In canon, Germany has/had a bunch of sibs other than Prussia that were all the Germanic states before Germany itself was formed. I think it operates basically the same way for every country. (Even Hawai'i prob had older sibs from before the unification of the islands.)  
> I don't think Alfred is white, either! He's part of North America, he's Native American. However, I think because he's the creation/result of European colonialism, he's got Caucasian in him too and that's why he's all blonde and blue-eyed and American Pie. (The same logic goes for Canada.)  
> In modern times, (in fics I want to write,) all the First Nation sibs and Hawai'i are still alive and kicking because all we native folk are still around! I would love to write abt the Indigenous People's Conference as a more tired, angrier, browner World Meeting.  
> Those are my gratuitous indigenous headcanons and they're really the backbone of this fic (other than my righteous Polynesian rage lol).


End file.
